


Canvas

by Mishalocked24



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt, Light Angst, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 18:57:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16708165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mishalocked24/pseuds/Mishalocked24
Summary: Steve has three commissions to paint.Bucky helps him.From the story:"Actually, there's something I didn't talk you about." he answered shyly, moving his gaze away."Steve-" Bucky grimaced.Steve started to walk in the room, lining up his steps and trying to find the words that seemed too hard to pronounce."These pieces must be accompanied by three hundred words about what they are. Sort of short stories, small glints of the world they represent." Steve fixed his eyes in Bucky's in a silent plea. "So I hoped that you could write those words for me." he finished, unsure, stretching his spidery fingers in anxiety."We'll do it, pal."





	Canvas

"What are these commissions about?" he asked, resting his elbows on the uncleaned table in the messy kitchen and squeezing his cheek in his own left palm.

Steve softly smiled and passed a hand in his hair, trying to smooth the rebel bangs that spiked towards every possible direction —Bucky loved the look of exasperation that Steve gave him, whenever he licked his fingers and tried to slick back the single blond hair that curved on his small forehead—.

"Actually, there's something I didn't talk you about." he answered shyly, moving his gaze away.

"Steve-" Bucky grimaced.

Steve started to walk in the room, lining up his steps and trying to find the words that seemed too hard to pronounce.

"These pieces must be accompanied by three hundred words about what they are. Sort of short stories, small glints of the world they represent." Steve fixed his eyes in Bucky's in a silent plea. "So I hoped that you could write those words for me." he finished, unsure, stretching his spidery fingers in anxiety.

"We'll do it, pal."

 

"What's the first theme?"

"Fondness."

 

_His lips are always softly closed around his thumb while he sleeps._

_You love when his chubby and small hands grasp your dress and a bright light enlighten his blue eyes with joy when you take him in your arms, lifting his tiny body from the ground and making him laugh._

The pencil swirled in neat and straight lines around her eyes, the clean wrinkles around her mouth were beveled by the softest hint of a smile.

_His skin is painted with the palest tract of color on his left cheek, with a round mole that makes your heart flutter whenever you notice the line of expression that goes alongside it whenever he grins widely._

Her hair was light blond and a soft band curled around her neck.

_He's growing up now and he's no more the tiny boy you used to hold in your arms._

Her eyes with the smallest hint of green around the black and lucid pupil stared directly at him, making him gasp with her resolution.

_His blond hair is so similar to yours and whenever you look in his bright and big blue eyes with the smallest hint of green around the black and lucid pupil, your chest tightens._

Her hand was stretched as if she was touching the canvas, reaching his very core.

_"Protect him. Please, protect him." your heart whispers when that small boy goes and speaks to your son for the first time._

Bucky stretched his hand too, caressing the frame.

_Your child smiles at the boy and your heart bursts with joy._

He passed fairy fingers on her neat eyebrow.

_You see them growing up together, being the little troublemakers they are supposed to be at their age._

_You see how the small boy looks after your child and when you cough for the first time the ache isn't so unbearable._

_He doesn't notice, but the boy_ — _he's not so small anymore, yet your child is and your heart aches with nostalgia and in fondness_ — _does and when you see his eyes, your heart finds peace._

_You're dying and the small boy is still with your child._

_He's protecting him._

Bucky met her gaze and stretched his lips in a tiny smile.

_"Protect him. Please, protect him."_

"I am." he whispered at the empty room, observing Sarah Rogers staring at him back from the canvas.

_The small boy looks at him with love in his eyes and you suddenly understand._

_You can die in peace now, because he will always be there for your child._

 

"Have you finished?" Steve entered into the room and crossed his arms when he saw Bucky sitting in front of the painting, observing his mother with a frown.

He gave him an enclosed package, containing an immaculate piece of paper covered with his messy calligraphy.

"Promise you won't read it." Bucky asked, trembling internally when Steve brushed his fingers taking his words with him.

"Why?"

"Promise me."

Steve stared at him and blinked away his confusion —his eyelashes rested for the briefest moment on his cheeks and Bucky never desired so much in his life to be an artist to impress that moment on canvas—, offering a smile full of acceptance.

"I promise."

 

The first slice of black bread they tasted the morning after didn't taste of hunger itself.

When Bucky met Steve's joyful eyes and his sardonic smile, he didn't regret that he was stripping his soul with words he was not meant to mean.

Not when his crumpled soul could shine again for blue eyes with the smallest hint of green around the black and lucid pupil.

 

"Aftermath."

"I'll think of something."

 

_Your hands are tired and your fingers lose their grip on the greenish little belt that envelope one of the few protection your body can have._

The background was mostly dark, with the vaguest sprinkle of bright paint, mostly red and yellow, on the left side.

_Your knees bend on the hard ground and your nails sink into the soil, dragging away small stones and abandoned leaves._

The man's helmet was alone on the floor, and his profile was lightened by the distant bangs.

A tear that streaked his left cheek.

_The war's over, but in your head the horror will never find peace, kicking and shouting against your own mind._

_You're alone and you deserve it, because you're the monster everyone fears the most._

The soldier's right hand was gripping at a crumpled and old photo with a faceless subject on it.

In the distance, brief streaks of smoke.

 _The sky is stormy now_ — _blue eyes with the smallest hint of green around the black and lucid pupil._

_Could they be your damnation?_

_Could they be your salvation?_

_When you meet him, with the smallest mole on his left cheek, the war's find a truce in your head._

_Two years and suddenly his lips stretch in the widest grin you've ever seen, reminding you how to breath without hating every whiff of oxygen that seems to burn your veins._

The trench was barely hinted, but the gory dog tags of an unnamed soldier stuck on a wire were clear.

_The war's over and the only win you know you've ever had in your entire life are his arms wrapping you after two years._

_"Let's go home." and he drags you away, shielding your body with his smaller frame while you try to hide between his familiar arms._

_Home._

The wrinkles around his eyes were neat and Bucky found himself being attracted toward his lost expression.

_The sky is pouring and so are his blue eyes with the smallest hint of green around the black and lucid pupil._

_"I'm home." you whisper meeting his blurred smile._

_"You're home." he whispers meeting your blurred eyes._

Bucky sat and rested a hand on his own heart.

_The sky's quiet now and so are you when you finally realize that the war's really over and that your aftermath is staring back at you._

_The war's over and he's right here with you, not letting yourself getting lost anymore._

_The war's finally over now and he's still with you._

"I won't read it." Steve took the envelope and smiled quietly at Bucky, making his heart shiver.

"I know."

 

When he settled his eyes on Steve, Bucky breathed hard and almost choked when a soft whimper escaped Steve's lips during his sleep.

His thick and long eyelashes —the thickest and longest eyelashes Bucky had ever seen— flickered against his smooth skin and Bucky closed his eyes when he pulled a steady hand under his briefs, choking every little moan that wanted to escape from his lips.

He would've been damned to hell and he didn't care at all, if he could stare —just stare— at those blue eyes with the smallest hint of green around the black and lucid pupil for the rest of his life.

 

"Untold."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know."

 

Bucky watched Steve throwing away his pencils and clutching his hair with shaking hands in rage.

"I can't think of a single thing to paint!" he shouted, looking back at him with a silent plea in his eyes.

Bucky bent his neck thoughtfully.

 

_"You look at her. Maybe she's the most beautiful girl in the club and she's swirling between your arms."_

Steve stared at him, stopping his tiny fingers with his pencil.

_"She's looking at you with her soft brown eyes and that gorgeous smile that enchanted you as soon as you laid your eyes on her."_

Steve opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but Bucky lifted his hand and stopped him.

_"She's a dancing little star, but your eyes are not for her tonight. Never were."_

_S_ teve grabbed the pencil again and started to pass it on the canvas, closing his eyes and letting himself be dragged away by Bucky's voice.

_"There's a tiny figure there. Hidden behind those nameless faces that laugh and talk and just live. It's observing you, while you take your girl and make her your queen."_

Steve's breath quivered, but his hands never stopped.

_"You make her turn around and a whiff of her scent catches at your nose, making you dizzy with adrenaline."_

The swirl of her skirt and his steady hands around her waist and Bucky stepped toward Steve.

_"There's a tiny figure there. Hidden behind those nameless faces that laugh and talk and just live. You're observing it, while it looks at you taking your girl and making her your queen."_

He rested a hand near Steve's arm, the goosebumps raised on his soft skin.

_"The tiny figure has big blue eyes with the smallest hint of green around the black and lucid pupil and has a skin painted with the palest tract of color on the left cheek with a round mole."_

Steve's trail faltered for a moment.

_"Your queen is laughing, yet your eyes are not for her tonight. Never were. Never will."_

Bucky caressed Steve's arm, entwining their fingers and resting his lips against the shell of his ear.

_"Leave it unspoken. Leave it, 'cause the tiny figure doesn't deserve it._

_Your curse is your love, your love is your curse._

_The tiny figure is your love, the tiny figure is your curse."_

A tear streaked Steve's left cheek and Bucky gathered it with two fairy fingers, while his words soothed him.

_"She's your queen tonight and the tiny figure does see as you're not her king. Never could. Never will."_

Bucky's left arm rested on Steve's collarbone, softly. Just a caress.

_"Blue eyes with the smallest hint of green around the black and lucid pupil stares fondly at you and you close your eyes, when your crumpled soul shines again."_

_S_ teve tried to talk, but Bucky's hand pressed hard against his mouth, choking a sob.

_"You love and yet you sin._

_You sin and yet you love._

_You love and your love can never be told._

_Yet."_

Bucky left the room and Steve sobbed loudly, dropping on the floor.

 

"Promise me you won't look at it."

"I promise."

 

The first slice of black bread they tasted the morning after didn't taste of hunger itself.

When Bucky met Steve's troubled eyes and his mild smile, he did regret that he had stripped his soul with words he was not meant to mean.

Not when his crumpled soul couldn't shine again for blue eyes with the smallest hint of green around the black and lucid pupil.

 

A tiny figure rested against the column with crossed arms.

Hidden behind those nameless faces that laughed and talked and just lived.

A king was taking her queen that night and the tiny figure, with big blue eyes with the smallest hint of green around the black and lucid pupil, stuck on the silent canvas, loved back with a love that sinned and with a sin that loved.

The tiny figure loved back the man that couldn't be the king of her queen that night.

The tiny figure loved and yet sinned.

The tiny figure sinned and yet loved.

The tiny figure loved and its love could never be told.

 

Yet.

 


End file.
